by Bob Mauldin
“Transport Control.”
“I have the honor to be standing in Transport Control aboard the spaceship Galileo about twelve thousand miles above the surface of the Earth. I am here today to interview the commander of the group that calls itself the Terran Alliance. It would seem that First Captain Grimes had duties that precluded an interview in Zurich at this time, so I and my cameraman have been...transported... aboard. With me now is Commander Kimura. Commander, just where are we aboard this ship, and when will we get to see the First Captain?” She moved the microphone toward the commander and waited for a reply.
“We’re on deck seven, about three-quarters of the way back from the front of the vessel, which is about thirty-eight hundred feet long. We’ll be going to deck eighteen, which is also known as the ‘projects deck.’ There, you’ll be allowed to film a ceremony investing two of our officers with command of their new ships, and you’ll be in time to see the ships arrive if we hurry. Your cameraman can continue filming as long as he likes. Follow me, please.” Taking a headset from the ensign manning the transport console, she placed it on her head and led the way out of the room.
Keeping up a running commentary as they moved out of the room and down the corridor toward the elevator, Kimura said, “Part of the technology we have aboard is artificial gravity. Our scientists are still trying to work out the math, but it helps that we have the hardware to work with. Working models, so to speak. Knowing that something can be done helps with learning how to duplicate it, but it’s still slow going. We don’t want to get ahead of ourselves. Right now,” she said as the elevator doors opened, “we’re running at well over one hundred percent of crew complement because we’ll be transferring personnel to the two new ships I mentioned. They’ll arrive with skeleton crews aboard, and we’ll transfer crew to each ship until they’re fully crewed. Then we’ll recrew the Galileo herself, and she can start on her next mission.”
As the elevator moved downward, Sarah motioned Dwayne to turn off the camera. “Let’s save storage where we can, okay?” Turning to their guide, she asked, “What’s the next mission, Commander?”
“To build the fourth and final space dock. We have the first three in operation now, and the fourth will be big enough to turn out ships the size of the one we’re on now. It will take about a year to build as opposed to the six months or so for each of the other three.”
The door slid into the wall, giving the trio a view of a huge open space filled with people in identical uniforms. Sarah heard the camera begin to whir behind her again and asked, “Most of the uniforms look the same. Are these people all crew of this ship? And what about the differences I see?”
“As I said, many of these people will be transferring to the two new ships arriving shortly. And yes, the uniforms are all the same. We call this particular uniform the duty uniform, and it’s worn every day for most functions. You’ve seen the dress uniform when the shuttle landed in Zurich, as well as the fancy dress uniform worn to the baron’s gala. The differences you see here today are primarily in the patches people wear on their shoulders. We have a few people aboard from each of the three space docks, some from each of the two active ships, and quite a few who will be moving to the two new ships. Plus, the Galileo crew have their own shoulder patch.”
“And how will we see these ships arrive, Commander? Some type of screen or viewport?”
“No, Miss Parker, not quite. Come with me.” Kimura led the two visitors through the crowd and over to a relatively clear area. She glanced at her watch and said, “Dwayne, you might want to get a shot of that wall.” Pointing her arm in the direction she wanted him to aim his camera, she dropped her arm and waited.
“What are we going to see, Commander,” Sarah asked at about the time that the entire section of wall began to retract. “Oh my God!” Sarah cried. “We’re all going to die!”
“Relax, Miss Parker,” Kimura said with a smile. “You’ve just been initiated. Almost everyone has the same reaction the first time. We’re protected by force fields strong enough to stand up to a meteor impact yet selective enough to allow the passage of any material at the field operator’s discretion.” She pointed to a room raised above the main floor of the deck where some dozen people were doing arcane things to consoles the visitors couldn’t see.
“And now, Dwayne, you will aim your camera about... there, shortly,” she said pointing into space. “Look for four shapes. Another way to spot them is to look for stars that disappear and reappear. That would be a ship passing in front of them. Soon enough, you’ll see the ships themselves. Unlike the Galileo, which is an uninspiring grey-metal color, the new ships have been subjected to an annealing process that makes them white. We wanted to do something to set ourselves apart from the Builders, which is what we call the original owners. Some of our Mamba pilots have started using the process to decorate their ships. Over there is one of the Hawke Flight ships.”
Sarah and Dwayne looked in the direction indicated and saw a Mamba being swarmed over by a group of people. “What’s going on? Repairs?”
“No. It’s called ‘nose art.’ The main colors have already been added. What they’re doing now is adding the pilot’s handle and name on top of the hawk design.” As Dwayne zoomed in on the ship sitting by itself at one end of the immense bay, he was able to make out the name “Avatar.” Just under the clear cockpit was the name, “Randall, Velma, Commander.”
Dwayne turned the camera toward Kimura. “Aren’t you worried about the government finding out who your people are?”
“Not at all. At least for some of our people. We do ask before we reveal anyone’s name. I understand that one of the requests is that we give a full list of the names of all our personnel. The official reason is that the United States wants to make sure none of our people are wanted for crimes on Earth. So far, that hasn’t been a problem. Trust me, we don’t have Elvis or Jimmy Hoffa on any of our ships or bases.”
The commander cocked her head to one side as if listening to someone on her headset. “Now would be a good time to get over by the force field while you can still get a good shot,” she said. “The Heinlein and the McCaffrey are about to arrive.”
The reporter’s and cameraman’s feelings of being out of place grew as they moved through the crowd of identically clad people over to the edge of the deck. Sarah put her hand out and felt it collide with... something. “That’s the force field,” Kimura said. “It won’t pass organic material unless the overrides in the control room allow it, and that doesn’t happen often. Now, Dwayne, aim your camera there,” she said pointing outwards.
At the same time that Dwayne was filming the arrival of the four ships, Lucy stepped up onto the dais and stood in front of her staff. “Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. I am First Captain Lucy Grimes. Quite a few of you don’t know me yet. I hope to remedy that in the months to come, but for now, let me say that I’m glad you’re here. Each and every one of you are here, I hope, because of your belief that mankind belongs in space as more than a visitor, but that’s what the space stations of Earth provide—visitor status. The Alliance offers full residence as a separate and independent entity. Once, we thought we’d be an appendage of Earth, and that could still be true, but for the time being, we’ll remain a unique and distinct entity. As more and more of our technology becomes a part of Earth’s daily life, we’ll become a greater part of Earth, lessening the distinction. And as more ships need crews, more volunteers will come up to join us, constantly changing our uniqueness in directions we can’t yet imagine. But that will be a slow process—faster than if we’d turned this ship over to any one government, to be sure, but slow nonetheless. We hope to have as minimal an effect on the economy of the planet of our birth as possible while exporting the most technology we can.
“It will be up to all of us—Alliance members, as well as the people of Earth—to make sure that economic upheaval is minimized while progress is maximized. I realize these are platitudes, but the
y must be voiced for the benefit of all. We don’t want to upset the applecart. It is, after all, our planet as well. We, all of us, have homes down there, as well as friends, lovers, pets, dreams, and aspirations for the future. Only a few of you standing here today will make the break that will turn you into true members of the Terran Alliance, real spacers. The rest of you will stay with us for a time and then go home.
“That split will be with our blessing. You’ll take your memories with you, and more. Most of all, you’ll take with you information that will eventually seep into Earth’s database and enrich everyone. We encourage this. But that isn’t why you’re here today.
“You’re here because of those.” Lucy turned to look at what the cameraman had centered in his viewfinder—four gleaming white ships. “All four of those ships need crew, and a large portion of you will fill slots on board those ships. You’ll become true spacemen! Buzz words, yes, but you’ve been aboard the Galileo training for two weeks now, most of you, and you know deep down that this isn’t a game.”
“Not once,” she continued as Dwayne’s camera panned through the crowd of rapt faces and up to hers, “have we made any claims that the adventure you are about to embark upon is anything but dangerous. Already, almost a dozen people have died. But that’s true of any leap forward in human evolution. The deaths are deplored, but those who’ve passed on will not be forgotten. Their memories will sustain us in the dark of space when nothing else can.”
Only the sound of air passing through the ductwork could be heard as Lucy stood silently before the multitude. She looked down on their faces and continued to speak. “I want to thank each and every one of you for being here today. Without you and the dreams you bring with you, we couldn’t even begin to accomplish this great work. Those of you who’ll be moving to the new ships already have your orders. Those of you who’ll be staying with the Galileo will have a job bigger than any you’ve attempted so far—the building of Taurus Base. But now, it is my distinct pleasure to present to you the captains of our two newest ships.”
Taking two steps toward the side of the dais, Lucy said, “By unanimous consent of the Fleet Advisory Council, it has been decided that the captain of the Terran Alliance Ship Arthur C. Clarke will be Commander Gayle Miller. Commander Miller, front and center!”
The fact that she’d seen this same ceremony before as a participant did nothing to lessen the impact of the words. With a lump in her throat, Gayle took two hesitant steps up onto the dais and stood before Lucy. Marsha had stepped forward to stand beside the First Captain and held a black velvet box.
“Gayle Miller,” Lucy intoned, “by the power vested in me by the Fleet Advisory Council, I hereby promote by you to the rank of captain.” Taking one of the gold comets from the box, she pinned it to her lapel. Repeating the task on the other lapel, she stepped back and saluted. “Congratulations, Captain Miller.”
As a cheer went up throughout the deck, Gayle returned the salute. “It’s also my pleasure,” Lucy continued in a voice that cut through and silenced the cheering, “to present you with this plaque,” she reached out and took a large object from another of her staff. “As Simon would say, ‘Hang it in your reception area, Captain.’ And I would like to say congratulations again. See me in my ready room afterward, please. For now, dismissed.” She saluted Gayle again, winked, and said quietly, “The drinks are on you when time permits, Captain.”
Lucy watched her new captain leave the dais with a bemused look on her face. Memories of first meeting Gayle surfaced, followed by dozens of memories from the past three years, and she had to mentally drag herself back to the present.
Even so, she thought, she deserved to be a captain long before me.
She surreptitiously motioned Marsha back to her side as more memories threatened to sidetrack her, but she forced them back. “Commander Robert Greene, front and center,” she commanded.
When the man she’d served with for the past three years stood before her, she said, “Again, by unanimous consent, the Fleet Advisory Council has approved your promotion to Captain of the Terran Alliance Ship Isaac Asimov. Congratulations, Robert. It couldn’t happen to a more deserving person.” She pinned his gold comets onto his lapels and transferred the brass plaque that was handed to her into his hands. “Hang it in your reception area, Captain, and good luck. Please see me in my ready room after the ceremony is over.”
Lucy watched Robert descend the dais and stand beside Gayle. Looking back at the crowd of people before her, she said, “In accordance with traditions that started with the completion of Orion Base, I hereby declare a holiday! Well done to one and all. Tomorrow all hands will report to their assigned ships by 0800. Until then, all food processors have been reprogrammed to allow beer for all hands. Except,” she had to yell above the clamor, “for those who have duty tonight. Sorry folks, it can’t be helped. Dismissed!”
CHAPTER SIX
Pankatt Korchon, Kravar Sept-leader, strode down the corridors of the palatial estate followed by two escorts and the stink of his own fear. Quite often these peremptory summons resulted in the recipient’s head being mounted on a pole outside the front gate until the skull gleamed white in the light.
The krath-hide vest he wore was decorated with his Honors and stained with the sweat the Korvil exuded when their fight-or-flight reflexes were in effect but couldn’t be acted upon. So much time had passed, nearly a quarter-cycle now, since he’d filed the report, that he’d convinced himself there would be no reprisal. He should have known better. Even in the Korvil Hegemony, paperwork moved slowly. But no Korvil got elevated to the position of Sept-leader and then lost a ship, not without an accurate accounting. And as surely as big krath made little ones, he was here to be held accountable.
The corridor darkened as it narrowed down into the center of the complex. Angling down, it led to the ancestral caves that were the beginnings, or so thought some of the old greybeards, of his Lord. Each Lord had a similar place that embodied the beginnings of Korvil supremacy over the lower animals of their world. One of the great Plains Lords, it was said, had a palace made of carefully interlaced bokon trees that was over fifty generations old.
The corridor ended at the entrance to a huge, sand-floored room. Once a cave, the structure had been covered over by level after level of living and working spaces dedicated to the service and expansion of his Lord’s influence. Here was the heart of Supreme Lord Marcad, Korvil’s power—his throne room, the visible symbol of his Lord’s exalted status.
Senses honed by fear, Pankatt felt his escorts move to block any possible retreat. Swallowing hard, he stepped onto the burning sand and strode toward the throne, dimly glimpsed in the distance. Lit only by torchlight, the shadows in the great chamber reached out for him and evoked ancestral memories that only served to strengthen the fight-or-flight reflex he was working desperately to subdue.
Alone, he approached his Lord’s throne, his two escorts having remained at the entrance to the chamber. It wasn’t until he neared the great seat that embodied Lord Marcad’s supremacy that he realized it was empty. The dancing shadows had served to hide that fact until he was almost upon it. Glancing swiftly around, Pankatt could see nothing of his Lord. Only the precious varch furs draped carelessly over the arms, seat, and back of the great wooden chair gave evidence of his Lord’s presence.
After what seemed like an interminable period of waiting, the Sept-leader began to move about the room slowly, no longer able to just wait for his fate to overtake him. Sniffing the air, he moved quietly past the fancifully carved pillars that supported the roof. Feeling the hot sand work its way up between the pads of his toes, he paid attention to the information his sensitive nose relayed to him. Something had been here recently, and it was new.
He found himself staring out over a large circular expanse. Here was where he’d given his life to the service of his Lord. This was only his second time to stand in a Pit of Justice. Legend said that opponents in the Pit coul
d only speak the truth whether for good or ill. As he stared in fascination at the Pit, his imagination provided the sights and sounds of the combats that must have occurred there over the generations.
As he stood there, a sense of wrongness penetrated his forebrain, and he dropped back into the moment, the possible past already relegated to memory. At that instant, his lips skinned back from his teeth, his breath hissed in his throat, and he dropped into a battle crouch, reaching for the sword he’d been forced to leave with his escorts. He held the pose for several breaths as he slowly examined each object within his sight in the flickering light provide by the torches lining the Pit. Just as he began to relax from combat mode, thinking he must have been wrong, out of the gloom a sword flew through the air and landed at his feet.
“Take up the weapon Sept-leader,” said the voice he’d only heard once before, on the day of his ascension to leader of his Sept. He had knelt in the sand before the very throne somewhere behind him and proclaimed loyalty to that voice. Sliding gracefully back into his battle crouch, his hand reached for the hilt of the sword. Not quite touching it, he surveyed the room again. All of his senses went into overdrive—his nose cataloging every stray scent, and his ears moving independently as they tuned in to even the faintest whisper of pads on the sand. The very fur on his body rose to feel for eddies in the air currents that passed over him, secondary lenses snapping into place over his eyes as he searched for even the slightest movement.
For all his keenness of sense, he couldn’t place the source until one of the carven statues that lined the Pit moved.
“I have gifted you greatly, Sept-leader,” the hulking figure said as it moved out into the center of the Pit. “Land, power, and females have I given to you, and Honors on your own merit as you moved up in my service. Of all my Sept-leaders, only you had the daring to take the position offered to you in the outer provinces. Your skill and bravery have brought wealth to your Lord and Honor to you.” The huge figure paced back and forth in the great Pit, brandishing the huge torch held as if it were a twig. “Pick up the weapon, Sept-leader, and step into the Pit. I would question you.”
